


Only Once

by ModernDayBard



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernDayBard/pseuds/ModernDayBard
Summary: Re-posted from my FF Account--not stolen.It only happened once…but his brother had been there to witness the whole thing. As much as Thor tried to forget it, he knew he'd never live that misadventure down. Just a bit of brotherly humor to get me through finals week. (Pre-Movie Thor adventure, One-Shot.)





	Only Once

**Author's Note:**

> (Full disclosure, I really don't know all that much about Norse mythology, but when I heard about this particular escapade, I just had to try to fit it into the MCU; at the time (2016) I was under the impression the culprit had been a frost giant, which I didn't wish to deal with at the time, so I swapped out for the only giant I knew even a little bit about. Which happens to be Surt, so there went my attempt to make this something that actually could have happened before the first Thor movie. Oops.)

If Thor, Sif, Loki, and the Warriors Three had been on Midgard, the game would’ve been called ‘Never Have I Ever’; as they were on Asgard, it was simply a boasting challenge—one would name something they had never done, and anyone who had was eliminated.

Volstagg was the first to begin the latest round, and was determined that Sif be the first eliminated, since she had many grounds on which to eliminate the rest of them. That was why he took his life in his hands by daring to say: “I have never fought any battle while wearing a dress.”

Sif rolled her eyes, remembering the time just before her training began when she’d fought Fandral with bare fists in a dress—and won. “Fine—I yield.”

To Volstagg’s surprise, Loki grimaced as he also spoke up. “I’m afraid I must as well.”

“Your tricks and illusions have betrayed you, have they, Brother?” Thor asked with a taunting smirk.

The other warriors began to grin at the younger prince’s certain discomfort, then were surprised by his calm retort. “I do seem to recall one battle where you were wearing one of mother’s gowns...”

Thor’s face turned red, and he blustered and fumbled: “Th-that was only one time—and it was your fault!”

“As I recall brother,” the younger prince of Asgard replied as he leaned back. “It was actually _Heimdall’s_ idea.”

Sif and the warrior’s three didn’t voice their question, but they looked from Thor to Loki and back with it clearly written on their face. When he saw his brother would not elaborate (not that he could blame him) the silver-tongued trickster continued the tale, carefully maintaining his nonchalant tone.

“Contrary to what most Midgardians believe—or even what is reputed among our people—Mjolnir can be wielded by more than just Thor or his equals: if someone can withstand its terrible power, they can at least carry it, even if they do not gain its power. For obvious reasons, this fact is not generally advertised, but sometimes, word gets out...”

* * *

When Thor awoke that morning, he reached for Mjolnir—as he always did—but this time, his hammer wasn’t there. At once, the young warrior came fully awake and glanced around his chamber frantically, but while nothing was disturbed or out of place, his beloved weapon was nowhere to be seen.

“LOKI!!”

* * *

Loki, a much earlier riser than the blonde warrior, was making his way from breakfast when his older brother found him at last. Thor was red in the face from fury and exertion both, but he at least managed to make himself more-or-less understood the first time.

“WHERE IS IT?” he bellowed, grabbing the shape-shifter by the shoulders.

To his credit, Loki barely flinched. “You’ll have to be more specific, Brother...”

“MJOLNIR—WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT?”

“Nothing,” Loki answered slipping from his brother’s grip. “Has something been done, then?”

As if a switch had been thrown, Thor went from loud and angry to mumbling and embarrassed, but the younger prince had keen enough ears to catch the muttered words: “It’s gone.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” the dark-haired warrior replied dismissively, beginning to turn away with a slight shrug, only to be stopped by a meaty hand on his shoulder.

“You will help me find it.”

The shape-shifter merely raised an eyebrow. “Why? Even if I could find it, you know well I couldn’t lift it.”

Thor’s anger was quickly returning, but he wasn’t shouting—yet. “Because, if you do not, father might learn who was responsible for ruining his last feast...”

* * *

Grumbling under his breath the whole time, Loki made his way to the palace of Freya, quietly cursing the day he let Thor gather blackmail material on him. _Of course, if all ends well enough, this escapade may balance the scales..._

He had come to Freya under a hunch—while Thor searched Asgard, the younger prince would seek Mjolnir further afield, but for that, he would need help.

“So, you want to borrow my feathered cloak to fly through the realms and aid your brother? How noble!” the blonde lady cried merrily, seeming not to take the matter seriously. “And to think there are those who say you do not care for each other. Take it, just so long as you bring it back once Thor has recovered whatever it is he has lost. I have to do this all the time for _my_ brother. I swear, Frey’s so absentminded sometimes, I wouldn’t be surprised if he mislaid Sumrbrandr one of these days!”

Loki girt his teeth at the change of subject, but managed to maintain a polite tone. “That would be most unfortunate. Now, the cloak?”

* * *

_Finally_ , he was allowed to take the cloak and begin his search. Giants were the obvious suspects, of course, since more of them could lift Mjolnir than in many of the other species. _But if it were in the possession of the Frost Giants, we’d most certainly know by now. Perhaps one of the denizens of Muspellheim?_

That was where Loki went first, and his wits did not let him down:  he arrived in time to hear Surt himself boasting of his conquest. Now, knowing his brother would merely launch an assault on the lord of Muspellheim were this news to be carried to him now, the younger prince decided to take it upon himself to make a first attempt at a diplomatic resolution.

Accordingly, he marched into Surt’s fiery hall and announced himself: “I am Loki of Asgard, come to barter with Surt, lord of Muspellheim, and I claim guest rights!”

Surt seemed mildly disappointed that he was now under a host’s obligation not to kill his guest—or at least, not to seem to _mean_ to—but he soon moved on, smirking at the Asgardian prince. “What, is not the great Mjolnir prize enough to warrant Thor himself to bargain for its return? Why should I deal with Odin’s second son?”

“Esteemed host,” Loki replied, trying to ignore the insult, “it cannot be lost on you that Thor’s preferred method of ‘bargaining’ involves a good deal more bloodshed than is conducive to accomplishing either of our goals. You are not likely to get what you desire should I leave this matter to him.”

“Who’s to say I desire anything more than what I already have?” Surt asked, leaning back a little on his throne with feigned disinterest—betrayed by the greedy light in his magma-red eyes. “Mjolnir is a worthy prize, after all.”

Loki shook his head once, allowing a small smirk to show. “For some, maybe, but not for you: you may be able to lift the hammer, but not truly to wield it. Thus, to you, it is useless except as a bargaining chip for the thing you truly desire. Once you name that, the bartering may begin in earnest.”

Surt laughed once, and Loki’s heart bean to sink a little, as if it knew what was coming next.  “I’m afraid it will not—for bartering indicates coming to a compromise, which I will not accept! Either grant me my desire, or Thor’s hammer will be lost to him forever.”

The shape-shifter knew what was coming—the giants nearly always made the same demand—but for the sake of diplomacy, he asked: “And what, pray, would that be?”

“Why, the lovely Lady Freya as my wife!”

_Of course._

* * *

The princes could no longer keep the matter from their father or his council, thus it was in the presence of a handful of noble Asgardians, including Odin, Frig, Heimdall, Frey, and Freya herself that Surt’s ultimatum was delivered.

“Absolutely not!” Freya declared, to no one’s surprise—the giants may make the same demand, but Freya likewise gave the same reply.

Thor stood, tense and ready for a fight. “Of course not. Now that we know who took Mjolnir, there is no need for diplomacy or bartering—only battle!”

“Sit down!” Odin barked, and the blonde warrior quickly complied, knowing he was on thin ice with his father for the moment.

In an attempt to soften the blow, Loki tried to point out in a whisper, “It’s not likely to have been a successful attempt, anyway—or did you forget the giant you are so eager to attack has your weapon?”

Thor grumbled something that might have been construed as a reply, but the shape-shifter paid him little heed, turning his attention back to the council, who were in the midst of discussing more viable plans for recovering Mjolnir. He himself had one idea, but he wasn’t sure if even he could convince Odin and the rest—much less Thor. Then, to his surprise, Heimdall proposed the same idea, nearly verbatim, and the younger prince’s solemn, contemplative expression masked the teasing smirk he’d have been wearing had he thought it safe.

_It’s as much as you deserve, brother._

* * *

Thor hated the plan—to no one’s surprise—but otherwise, Heimdall’s suggestion passed he council unanimously: obviously Loki was not the only one who thought it a fitting punishment for Thor’s negligence that had landed them all in this situation to begin with. Loki was tasked with the supporting role, but he would’ve volunteered for it anyway, not only to be sure that thicker skulls did not hinder the plot, but also to watch and enjoy the show that was sure to come.

“It is not much further to Muspellheim,” the younger prince called back to the magic chariot’s other occupant, “we shall soon be at the court of your betrothed.”

The only answer he received was a decidedly un-ladylike growl from the beneath the veil of the figure behind him, but he hadn’t expected anything more. “Come now, my lady—is that any way to behave on what may very well be your wedding day?”

“What sort of fool plan is this, anyway?” a decidedly masculine voice barked back, as the figure in the white gown shifted uncomfortably. “You’re the shape-shifter, brother—wouldn’t you do a more convincing impersonation of Freya?”

_At this point, anyone could manage that feat._ Aloud, he only replied: “Aye, but Surt will expect her to have some sort of an entourage, and they could not hide their faces. Thus, _you_ must be Freya, and _I_ must play the part of your lady-in-waiting.”

And that was, in essence, Heimdall’s plan: Thor was decked in finery loaned to him by his mother, and his face hidden behind a veil, while his brother borrowed the face, figure, and style of dress of one of Frigg’s servants (ordinarily, a guise he’d be slightly embarrassed about, but, given Thor’s state, he felt he’d gotten off lightly). In these characters, the two would bluff their way into Surt’s household—or rather, Loki would bluff, and Thor would remain silent—and seize Mjolnir at the first opportunity.

The most beautiful part of this plan, of course, was all the wonderful leverage it gave him…

“I must say, brother, I was honored to be chosen as part of your wedding party—am I the maiden of honor?”

“Shut up, Loki.”

“And I must say, you’ve never looked better. Surt is lucky indeed!”

“Loki!”

* * *

When the two brothers entered Surt’s home at last, they found their host beaming at ‘Freya,’ with apparently no inkling as to the deception.

“Lady Freya,” the fire giant roared, and Loki wondered if this apparent blindness was brought on by intoxication, as Surt didn’t seem to be fully sober, at least, “welcome to Muspellheim—and your new home!” Turning to unseen servants, the Black One roared: “Prepare the feast! My wedding day dawns tomorrow!” He turned expectantly to his ‘bride’, frowning when she didn’t say a word. “Are you well, Freya?”

Loki stepped quickly forward, ready to play his part. “I do apologize, my lord,” he said in the serving-girl’s voice, “but excitement has robbed my lady of her voice for the past two days—once your offer reached her. She is under strict healer’s orders not to speak until tomorrow morning to allow herself to recover fully. She does wish me, her most trusted servant, to convey both her apologies and her eagerness for the coming morn.”

Standing next to Thor as he was, Loki was able to hear the derisive snort that followed is final statement—though whether it was at his shameless flattery, or that he dared to call himself ‘trusted’ it was impossible to tell. He spared a moment to shoot his brother a warning glare, but only after Surt had turned away, staggering a little as he led the two into the next chamber: the massive dining hall.

It’d been said that giants were masters of illusion—nearly as good as Frigg—but the Asgardian princes had never experienced quite what that meant until that moment. Though Surt did not change from his giant size (or at least, did not appear to) and the table was sized for him and his people, as were the chairs they sat in, yet the two warriors sat in chairs of ordinary size and found themselves seemingly on the same scale as their host, though whether he had shrunk or they had grown, or whether it was merely a trick of perceptions even the trickster could not tell. This turn of events troubled the younger prince—undoubtedly, this was intended as a comfort for his Asgardian guests, but the deception they were attempting was made easier when a size difference prevented clear vision.

Still unaware of his guests’ discomfort—or identities—Surt beamed at the ‘women’ beside him. “Freya, my betrothed, there is no need to wear a veil now. Take it off—enjoy the feast!”

“She cannot!” Loki broke in quickly, then composed himself before he continued: “May it please you to remember that is poor luck for the groom to see his bride before their wedding day? In accordance with this, there were those on the council that urged my lady not to come at all until tomorrow, but she would not hear of it, thus the compromise of the veil. Please, do not hold it against her.”

“Of course not—I am honored by her presence, and there will be time enough after the wedding to enjoy Freya’s beauty completely unobstructed!”

Loki was able to hide his grimace at such an undignified statement, but Thor was not able to completely mask _his_ anger.

This time, his growl was loud enough for Surt to hear, even in his less-than-sober state.

“Freya?” he asked, brow furrowing as the first doubts set in.

Loki swiftly kicked his bother under the table and smiled sweetly at the fire giant. “Her stomach,” he explained, a lie coming to him as he spoke. “Pardon the unladylike moment, but she’s been too excited to eat for the past two days.”

“Then eat, my love—I would not want you to faint tomorrow!”

Thor might’ve been angry and uncomfortable, but he never did let that get in the way of his appetite. He _did_ remember to keep the veil obscuring his face the whole time, but his mannerisms meant that such a fact was the last thing his brother had to worry about.

Surt’s magma-red eyes were wide with shock, clearly visible in the face as dark as obsidian, and Loki tried for another reassuring smile, adding a merry laugh for added effect. “It seems she was more starved than she knew!” There was a loud belch behind him at the moment, and the dark-haired warrior had to fight the urge to bury his head in his hands. “Heh. My lady has spent too much time in the company of none save her brother, it seems. I’m sure she will remember herself soon.”

Thor seemed to have gotten the message then, slowing down his intake of food and making his movements ore precise, if not feminine. Still, it was an attempt, his brother had to grant that much. Still, it was only Surt’s intoxication that had gotten them this far, and Loki was grateful for it. In another moment, even Thor had a reason to be glad because of it.

“My lady, would you like to see the hammer, Mjolnir? It is the greatest prize we have ever won form Asgard—until today of course.”

“Ye—” Thor began, but then remembered at the last second to attempt to disguise his voice. “I mean—Yes, dear. I would love to see such a legendary artifact.”

It was a pathetic attempt, but then, Loki _had_ told Surt that Freya’s voice was recovering, so perhaps it would pass without comment. At this point, their host was too far gone to notice any odd sound to the voice, and honestly, it was doubtful if he’d even really heard the words, but he did stand to retrieve the hammer from its hiding place, carrying it back to the table and holding it out proudly, like a pleased child…just in Thor’s reach.

* * *

Loki paused the story there, and Fandral frowned, leaning forward. “Well, what happened then?”

Loki treated the blonde warrior to a deadpan expression as he answered: “Thor, with his hammer in hand, surrounded by giants. What do you think happened?”

“He fought them all—in a dress,” Sif answered, an amused smirk on her face as she glanced at the elder prince, who’d been uncharacteristically silent as his brother related the tale.

“It was only once!” he barked at last, completely red in the face.


End file.
